The Pool, Midnight
by jadefyre's freedom
Summary: Picks up right where The Great Game left off. How do they get out? What will Sherlock deduce this time? What will John discover in the fridge after it's all over? Oneshot. Read and review if you please.


**Title:** The Pool, Midnight

**Rating:** G

**Summary:** Takes place immediately after the final moments of The Great Game; oneshot.

Sherlock's finger flexed against the trigger. Any further back and the three of them would be blown to smithereens. He glanced back at John, who was both nodding his permission and clearly not wanting to die. Sherlock could understand, of course. Dying was rather permanent. He took a deep breath, and shots fired.

They were not his shots, though. The red dots dropped from John's chest. John was safe.

Sherlock was grateful that he did not startle easily. But mostly he was grateful that the gun was a fake, the one pinched from the dead cabbie in A Study in Pink. Otherwise, they'd all be dead. His finger had clenched hard against the trigger when he heard the shots.

Before his eyes, Moriarty dropped to his knees, hands behind his head. Officers poured in from both entrances to the pool.

"Put the gun away, Sherlock," Lestrade's voice filtered into his consciousness. He was vaguely aware of a dozen voices surrounding him. He was also aware that he was still pointing the gun at the bomb. He lowered the prop, gave it to Lestrade. The bomb team moved in and did their job.

John was wrapped in a familiar orange blanket when Sherlock was escorted outside. Sgt. Donovan raised here eyebrows as the consulting detective approached.

"Well, freak. Looks like we got you out of another mess." She was expecting some cold observation in response but received only silence. Instead, Sherlock sat beside John and gazed into his eyes.

"I pulled the trigger," he confessed.

"I know. I know. He called your bluff."  
>"No one has ever done that to me before."<p>

"He's smart like you, Sherlock. You're not the only sociopath in the world."

The consulting detective snorted. "I'm not the one going to jail for life. I didn't kill a dozen people."

"I thought you said that you didn't care."

"But you do. You're my flatmate, my connection to all of these idiots," he indicated with a sweep of his hand. "That's got to count for something."

John smiled. "Yeah, I guess it does."

"That Sarah of yours is useful. You should keep her around."

"What?"  
>"If she hadn't tipped off the police, we'd be dead."<p>

"How...?"

Lestrade stopped his conversation and paid attention also. "Yes, Sherlock, do enlighten us as to how you deduced this detail."

Sherlock blinked at them incredulously. "It's so... obvious!" he exclaimed. "I mean surely this isn't some great feat of the mind?"

He continued at expectant looks from all.

"John was on his way to Sarah's. I posted on my website where I would be at midnight. She would have tried our phones, but no luck – Jim took John's, and mine was on silent in preparation for the special occasion. Sarah knows about my website through John's blog. She's bright. She checked my forum and discovered my most recent post. Given John's and my past history of getting into no small amounts of trouble, she thought it best to inform the Yard that something fishy might be up. Lestrade, knowing the connection between the first puzzle and the pool, knew to go with his hunch. And so here we are. I always had faith in you, Lestrade."

John shook his head. "Brilliant," he muttered, as usual. Sherlock smiled, also as usual.

"Also, I have nine texts and four missed calls from Sarah and one from Lestrade, so that helped. And she's right over there."

Sure enough, there was Sarah. She was making her way through the crowd of officers toward them.

After John was cleared to go home by the ambulance attendant, he returned to the flat upon Sarah's insistence.

Sherlock was back to watching late-night crap telly; it was two am.

"You lied to me," John said in greeting.

Sherlock looked up, a mask of innocence over his boyish face. "We have the World's Greatest Criminal behind bars," he retorted.

John knew it was no use arguing. His stomach gurgled.

He wandered to the fridge, expecting a dead cat or something to greet him.

He opened the fridge door and smiled. Sherlock remembered to buy milk.

The End


End file.
